The Neighbor Boy is Obsessed With Me

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Home for the holidays. Day one.

I barely had my coat off before my mother shoved a man into my personal space.

With a cryptic wink and a nudge that nearly knocked the wind out of me, she whispered, You know what to do. Consider it a palate cleanser after that disaster at the bar.

Then she grabbed her purse and vanished into the blizzard, leaving me alone with the most dangerous thing I had seen in years.

I understood the assignment immediately. I didn't hesitate. I wrecked him.

Later, when my mother called to ask where the "nice neighbor boy here to fix the furnace" had gone, I looked down at the unconscious, six-foot-two masterpiece tangled in my sheets.

I started to shake.

Chapter 1

My Manhattan law firm forced me on a mandatory sabbaticalwhich is corporate speak for "you're on the verge of a mental breakdown, go away." So I dragged my Rimowa suitcase back to the frozen tundra of my hometown.

I expected boredom. I expected eggnog. I did not expect a welcoming committee.

The second I stepped into the foyer, shaking snow from my boots, my mother, Carol, practically threw a man at me. She was bundled up like she was trekking Everest.

"He's all yours," she said, her voice dripping with implication. "The furnace is acting up, and I have to run to the hardware store for a part. Keep him occupied. Make sure he's... satisfied."

I groaned internally. Just an hour ago, Id run into Aaron, my high school ex, at the only bar in town. He was celebrating his engagement to a woman who looked like she was carved out of organic tofu and superiority.

I was still wearing my travel sweats. I needed a win. I needed a distraction. I needed to forget the pity in Aaron's eyes.

She gave me a look that screamed Grandchildren. Now. Then she disappeared into the whiteout.

I turned to the guy.

He was tall. Disturbingly tall. At least six-two, with broad shoulders that strained against a charcoal flannel shirt.

He had dark, messy hair and the kind of jawline you could cut glass on. He was looking at me with wide, innocent doe eyes that stood in stark contrast to the grease smudge on his cheek and the tool belt hanging low on his hips.

"Hadley?" he asked. His voice was a low, resonant rumble that went straight to my core.

I smirked. He looked like a deer in headlights. Easy prey.

I locked the front door, the deadbolt clicking with a finality that made him jump.

"Hmm?" He tilted his head, confusion swimming in those dark eyes.

"Shh," I whispered, pressing a finger to his lips. "Don't ruin it."

I grabbed his hand. His fingers were warm, the skin roughened by what I assumed was manual labor but was probably varsity rowing. Capable hands.

He frowned, his brow furrowing as I tugged him toward the stairs. "Hadley, wait"

"Upstairs," I commanded. "Now."

He followed, looking less like a willing participant and more like a man walking the plank, but he didn't pull away.

The moment we hit my childhood bedroom, I shoved him onto the mattress. He landed with a bounce, looking up at me with pure, unadulterated panic.

"Hadley, seriously, what are you doing?" he stammered, scrambling backward like a cornered animal.

I crawled onto the bed, straddling his waist. I pinned his wrists above his head, leaning down until our noses brushed.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" I purred. "We both know why my mother left us here alone. Let's just skip the awkward small talk and get to the part where you fix my... stress."

He bucked his hips, trying to dislodge me. For a "shy guy," He was solid muscle. Steel wrapped in cashmere.

"Hadley, stop! You need to think about this!" His face was crimson, his gaze darting to my exposed collarbone and then quickly away. "I'm not... I'm not who you think"

I silenced him with a hand to his cheek, tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "Sweetheart, save your breath. You're going to need it."

He opened his mouth to protest again, but I didn't let him. I kissed him.

It started as a shut-up kiss, but the moment my lips touched his, something snapped.

The hesitation vanished. The shy, stuttering boy evaporated.

His grip on my shoulders tightened, bruising and possessive. In one fluid motion, he flipped us over, pinning me to the mattress with a growl that sounded nothing like a protest.

My mother is a menace. A literal matchmaker from hell. Since high school, she's been trying to marry me off.

In college, it was "Find a doctor." In law school, it was "Lock down a partner before you graduate." Now that I'm a senior associate, she just wants a pulse.

Every holiday, she lines up the local talent. Usually, it's a parade of walking red flagsguys who talk about crypto too much or think "female lawyer" means "argumentative shrew."

I've spent years dodging them. I'm picky. I'm difficult. I'm terrified of intimacy.

But this one? This silent, brooding giant with the magic hands? Carol had finally delivered.

So I let go. I let the burnout, the billable hours, and the loneliness melt away under the weight of him. I thought, This is it. I'm finally taking what I want.

Hours later, the winter sun was setting, casting long shadows across the room.

I was lying in a heap of tangled limbs, staring at the ceiling, unable to feel my legs. The man beside me was asleep, one arm thrown protectively over my waist.

I was drifting off, feeling smug and thoroughly decompressed, when my phone buzzed on the nightstand.

It was Carol.

I put it on speaker, my voice raspy. "Hello?"

"Hadley! Where is Carter?"

"Who?"

"Carter! The neighbor! Did he finish fixing the furnace? I told him to ask you for help with his mock interview since you're a fancy New York lawyer now. He's terrified of the recruiters."

I froze. My blood turned to ice water.

"Wait," I whispered, sitting up slowly. "Carter?"

"Yes! Carter! Molly's son from next door. You know, the chubby little kid whose diapers you used to change? He just got back from Harvard. He's prepping for his interviews with the big firms. Why? Is he still there?"

It struck me as odd. Big Law recruiting usually happens in law school, not after graduation. If he was interviewing now, something was wrong. But my brain was too foggy to process legal recruitment timelines.

I looked down.

The man in my bed stirred. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks. He looked like an angel. A sexy, ripped, six-foot-two angel.

Carter. Little Carter. The kid I used to change diapers for.

The kid whose nose I used to wipe. The kid I used to boss around in the sandbox.

I poked him in the ribs. Hard.

"Carter?" I hissed.

He opened one eye, a lazy, satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He nodded, looking like the cat who not only got the cream but bought the whole damn dairy farm.

"You were here for interview prep?"

He nodded again, looking entirely unrepentant.

"Why didn't you tell me!" I shrieked, grabbing a pillow to cover myself. "I thought you were a blind date!"

He propped himself up on one elbow, the sheet slipping down to reveal a very grown-up chest. His voice was thick with sleep and amusement.

"You didn't exactly give me a chance to introduce myself, did you, Hadley?"

My soul left my body.

Chapter 2

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Carols footsteps on the stairs sounded like the countdown of a bomb.

Panic, cold and sharp, seized my lungs, squeezing until I saw stars. I lunged for the door, slamming the deadbolt home just as her shadow fell under the frame.

I spun around, gasping for air.

Carter was standing by the bed, unbothered, pulling his flannel shirt over his head. The movement rippled the muscles of his backa perfect V-taper of solid, corded strength.

My eyes snagged on the angry red welts raking down his shoulder blades. I did that.

He turned, buttoning his shirt with maddening slowness. His expression was calm. Borderline bored.

"Why the lock?" he asked, his voice a low rumble. He stepped toward me. "Let's just walk out there. Were adults. If youre bold enough to do the crime..."

"Shut up." I slapped his arm, hard. "You are way too calm for a man whos about to die."

I grabbed his wrist and dragged him toward the window. I threw the sash up. A gust of freezing wind and snow blasted into the room, swirling around us.

"Out," I hissed. "The porch roof. Go."

Carter planted his feet, looking from the icy shingles to the treacherous drop. His eyebrows shot up.

"Hadley," he said, his tone dripping with disbelief. "It is ten degrees out there. That is a sheet of ice. Are you trying to kill me?"

Clack. Jiggle. The doorknob rattled violently.

"Hadley!" My mothers voice muffled through the wood. "Why is this door locked? Where is Carter?"

Adrenaline spiked. My vision tunnelled.

"He left!" I shouted, my voice cracking.

I lowered my volume, aiming for whiny-exhausted-daughter. "Ive been traveling all day, Mom. Im dead on my feet. I locked it because I knew youd come in here and try to make me unpack. Im naked and Im napping!"

Silence.

Then, the guilt trip. "Oh. Well, get some rest. I was just going to make dinner."

Dinner. That meant shed be in the kitchen. The kitchen overlooks the driveway. Carters escape route.

"Actually, Mom?" I yelled, desperation clawing at my throat. "Im starving. Like, blood-sugar-crash fainting. But I need... I need the extra-greasy buffalo wings and a side of loaded fries from Millers. The one out on the highway."

"Miller's? On the highway? In this weather?"

"Please," I begged. "Its my first night back. Comfort food. Dad is still out plowing the roads, right? You can take the Subaru. Please?"

"Fine, fine," she grumbled. "You and your stomach. Always a slave to it."

I listened. Heavy footsteps retreated down the hall. Then the stairs. Then the front door slammed.

I exhaled, my knees almost buckling.

I scooped up Carters boots and coat from the floor and shoved them into his chest. "Go. Now."

He didn't move. He just stood there, holding his boots, looking at me with dark, unreadable eyes. He looked... hurt.

"So thats it?" he asked softly. "Wham, bam, thank you, ma'am?"

My brain was fried. I just needed him gone before Wayne came home.

"You got what you wanted," I snapped, pushing him toward the open window. "Do you want wings, too? Go!"

He resisted, his boots digging into the carpet. "Hadley, seriously. We need to talk about this."

"There is nothing to talk about!"

I shoved him. Hard.

He stumbled backward, stepping out onto the slick, frozen shingles. The wind whipped his hair.

He looked down at his sock-clad feet sinking into two inches of fresh snow, then looked back at me. "I thought... never mind."

He looked like a kicked puppy. A very sexy, very cold kicked puppy.

Guilt pricked at me. I grabbed a granola bar from my nightstand and shoved it into his hand.

"Here. For energy. Now go before I die of embarrassment."

He looked at the granola bar. He looked at me. Then, with a shake of his head and a wry, heartbreaking smirk, he turned and disappeared over the edge, shimmying down the trellis like a sexy, oversized squirrel.

I watched until his dark figure vanished into the whiteout of the neighbor's yard.

I slid down the wall, hitting the floor with a thud. Safe.

Then I looked at the bed.

The sheets were a disaster. Tangled, sweaty, and... oh god. There was a spot. A very distinct, biological spot.

Groaning, I ripped the linens off and ran to the ensuite bathroom, shoving them into the tub and turning on the cold water. I was scrubbing frantically, up to my elbows in suds, when the door creaked open.

"Hadley?"

I shrieked, slipping on the wet tile and landing hard on my tailbone. "Ow!"

Carol stood in the doorway, holding a bag of takeout. She stared at me, then at the tub full of red-tinted water.

"Period leak," I blurted out. "Disaster. Total crime scene."

Carol rolled her eyes, unphased. "Its biology, Hadley. Youre a grown woman, not a crime scene cleaner. Though with that amount of scrubbing, Im starting to wonder where you hid the body."

She leaned against the doorframe, watching me scrub.

"By the way," she said casually. "Molly called. She said Carter made it home, but he seemed a bit... flushed."

I scrubbed harder.

"Anyway," Carol continued, her tone shifting to that steel-trap motherly authority. "We owe that family, Hadley. Big time. Carter came over in the middle of the blizzard to fix our furnace when the repair company wouldn't come out. We would have frozen to death without him."

"Okay..." I said slowly. "I'll send him a thank you card."

"No. You'll do better."

She crossed her arms.

"You're a big-shot lawyer now. Top of your class, big fancy firm in New York. Carter has a massive interview coming up with a top firm, and he's nervous. Molly says he needs guidance."

"He went to Harvard," I argued, wringing out the sheet. "He's likely fighting off offers with a stick. He doesn't need me."

"He needs confidence. And we need to pay back the favor." Carol fixed me with a look that brokered no argument. "You're going over there tomorrow. Lunch. Then you're going to drill him until he's ready."

"Go over there?" My voice squeaked. "To his house?"

"Yes. Tomorrow. Noon. Don't be late."

She turned and left.

I stared at the soapy water.

Go to his house? Face the man I just shoved out a window? The man I used as a human stress ball?

I groaned and let my head thunk against the porcelain tub.

I was so dead.

Chapter 3

Carol operates on a dictatorship model, not a democracy.

The moment I swallowed my last bite of lunch, she shoved a yellow legal pad and a stack of file folders into my chest.

"Go," she commanded, physically spinning me toward the door. "Make him a killer lawyer. Don't come back until he can survive a cross-examination."

I stumbled out onto the porch.

There was zero chance I was going to see Carter. None. I would rather face a disciplinary board hearing naked.

I formulated a plan: walk to the town square, hide in the coffee shop, doom-scroll on TikTok for three hours, and come back claiming we covered negotiation tactics.

Genius.

I didn't even make it past the second driveway.

"Hadley! You're here!"

I froze.

Molly, Carters mom, was waving from her porch like she was flagging down a rescue chopper. She looked fantasticmatching Alo Yoga set, a glossy Moncler vest, and skin glowing with that specific radiance that comes from expensive dermatologists and zero generational trauma.

She jogged down her heated driveway, beaming. "Carol said you were coming to prep Carter for his big interview! Look at you, all professional with your notepad. Come in, come in! Its freezing!"

She hooked her arm through mine before I could stutter out a lie.

"That boy," she sighed, dragging me toward their massive front door. "Hes brilliant, but hes so nervous about these firms. He needs a shark like you to toughen him up."

I wanted to scream. I wanted to dissolve into the snow.

Molly ushered me into the foyer, which smelled like Le Labo Santal 33, fresh pine, and old money. She tilted her head back and yelled up the sweeping staircase.

"Carter! Hadley is here! Stop hiding!"

A beat of silence.

Then, he appeared at the top of the stairs.

He was wearing the internet's favorite gray sweatpants and a fitted white t-shirt that clung to his chest like a second skin, proving exactly why that fabric is a felony in forty-eight states.

One hand was shoved casually into his pocket. He looked down at me, his expression unreadable.

"Hadley," he said.

His voice was a deep, smooth baritone that vibrated through the floorboards.

For a second, neither of us moved.

The memory of yesterday slammed into me. The heat. The skin. The way he had looked up at me from my mattress. The air in the foyer suddenly felt thick enough to chew.

I forced my legs to move. It felt like walking to the gallows.

Carter stepped back to let me pass, his eyes tracking my movement. He smelled like soap and cedar. I tried not to inhale.

He led me into his study. It was a library out of a dark academia Pinterest boardmahogany shelves, Tufted leather chairs, and the smell of old paper and ambition.

He pulled out a chair for me, then sat in the one right next to it. Too close.

On the desk, a messy legal pad was covered in aggressive scribbles. I squinted, trying to decipher the chaos. I saw the letters H-A-D-L...

Carters hand shot out, snatching the paper away and flipping it over.

"Mock interview notes," he said quickly.

"Right." I cleared my throat, opening my own empty notebook. "So. Carol said you need help with... everything?"

"Did you come because you wanted to?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave. "Or because our mothers made you?"

I looked at him. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, staring at me with those wide, dark eyes. He looked vulnerable. Sweet.

I shook my head honestly. "I was drafted."

He blinked, and a flush crept up his neck, turning his ears pink. He looked down at his hands, twisting a pen.

"Oh."

Great. Now I felt like a monster. He thought I hated him.

"But!" I added frantically. "I'm here now. And I'm... you know. Good at this. So let's do this."

Silence stretched between us. It was agonizing.

Knock, knock.

Molly breezed in, saving my life. She set down a tray of steaming, fresh-baked cinnamon rolls with extra frosting and two glasses of ice water.

"Brain food!" she chirped. "I'll leave you two to it. Door closed for concentration!"

Click. The door shut. We were alone again.

"Hadley..." Carter started, his voice rough.

"Let's pivot to behavioral competencies," I blurted out, flipping open a folder and staring blindly at a resume I hadn't read. "Walk me through a time you navigated a high-stakes negotiation."

I refused to look at him. I stared strictly at the paper.

"The heat is on," Carter murmured.

I risked a glance.

He was pulling at the collar of his t-shirt. The room was warm, but not that warm. He undid a nonexistent button, pulling the fabric to the side.

My breath hitched.

There, right along the majestic slope of his collarbone, were three distinct, angry red scratches.

My scratches.

They stood out against his tan skin like a neon sign that read: HADLEY WAS HERE.

I felt the blood drain from my face and then immediately rush back, turning me into a human tomato.

Carter saw me looking. He didn't cover them up. He just watched me watching him, his eyes darkening. He took a slow sip of his water, his throat working.

I grabbed my glass and downed half of it.

"Is it hot in here?" I choked out.

"Boiling," he agreed.

He finished his water. I finished mine.

"Still thirsty," he whispered.

He leaned in.

My brain short-circuited. He was close. Too close. I could count his eyelashes. I could feel the heat radiating off him.

"You have a crumb," he murmured.

He reached out. His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth, lingering on my lower lip. The contact sent a jolt of electricity straight to my toes.

His gaze dropped to my mouth. He wasn't looking at me like a neighbor anymore. He was looking at me like I was the only meal hed ever wanted to eat.

He leaned closer. His scentclean, masculine, dangerousenveloped me.

The door handle turned.

"I forgot the napkins!" Molly sang out, barging in without waiting for an answer.

BANG.

I jumped so hard I tipped my chair backward, flailing like a dying beetle until I caught the edge of the desk.

Carter snapped back, sitting ramrod straight. He looked furious, his chest heaving.

"Mom!" he groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Knock! Please!"

Molly paused in the doorway, holding a stack of napkins. Her eyes darted from Carter's flushed face to my terrified expression.

"Oh," she said, her smile turning knowing. "Sorry. Just... didn't want you to get sticky."

I stood up so fast I almost gave myself whiplash.

"I have to go," I blurted out, shoving my notebook into my bag.

"Hadley?" Carter stood up, reaching for me.

"The dog!" I yelled, backing toward the door. "My Golden Retriever! He has severe separation anxiety and is probably eating the drywall right now! Gotta go!"

I sprinted out of the room, down the stairs, and out the front door before anyone could point out that our Golden Retriever died ten years ago.

I walked home in the freezing cold, sweating through my coat.

Molly definitely knew. She absolutely knew.

I thought I was safe. I thought I had escaped.

But the next day, at exactly noon, the doorbell rang.

I opened it.

Carter was standing there, holding a legal pad and wearing a smirk that made my knees weak.

"Ready for round two, Counselor?"

Chapter 4